Magustine
by WeezelWerks
Summary: The death of a priest and the birth of a warlock leads to the greatest conflict in all worlds.
1. Chapter 1

"Lythas!"

It took only a moment to arise from under my blankets and see my companion, Elveryth, in the moonlight. A look of urgency was upon her face, and I wasted no time in grabbing my sack of books and setting off towards her. Whatever had caused this worry in my ancient companion was obviously significant, and I yielded to her quieting hand when I began to speak.

She did not look at me, but to the hills with such intensity that I began to grow uneasy in her midst. I did not shuffle, however, and remained motionless in the moonlight. As my eyes cleared of sleep, something troubling had entered my once hazed view. The moon! With great sharpness and clarity it shone across the grasslands of Kalimdor, bright as the sun. I had to shield my eyes to maintain any vision at all of the distance, and dared not look directly into the circle of the Gods. I opened my mouth as to inquire why this was not brought to my attention earlier, but as if to answer me, the lunar light's intensity amplified, as if daylight had come early. The grasslands had become white and celestial, with no trace of their former brown and muddy colors.

Elveryth had not spoken as of yet, but turned with great speed and shrieked a whistle across the plains. Almost at once, a saddled Nightsaber with black fur appeared from its hiding spot, and ran faithfully to Elveryth, who immediately mounted. Without warning, I was pulled off the ground in a less than majestic manner and onto the Saber's back by Elveryth's powerful arms.

"What is it?" I begged.

She paid no heed to my question, and was breathing heavy as if in fear or panic.

"The…Corruption…" she muttered in between breaths.

Before I could inquire more, a terrible trembling overtook the ground, and our mount stumbled, throwing us to the ground. I flew over Elveryth and landed hard on my front. The pain was blinding, and helpless I lay there, my head askew and my jaw broken and bleeding freely. Elveryth fared no better. It appeared her legs were broken, and she hoisted herself onto her hip, staring out to the land.

It was then, as I looked behind us, I discovered what the source of such haste had been.

The light was focused over a part of the plains, as if a cloud of snow hovered above, and it was spreading. I made it to my knees, barely, and saw only an outline.

It was a hand, painted black against the fluorescent plains. It had broken through the ground, and was attempting to tear apart the surrounding area, as if to free more of itself.

_It's tearing this world apart._

At that thought, I groped for my sack of books on the ground. It had split open and the covers were impossible to read in the light and pain, but still I grasped one and held it close to me, hoping for some arcane protection of the gods.

Elveryth spoke. Clearly and calmly her voice carried across the plains, with no panic, only but a genuine sadness.

_Elune has failed us. The Corruption has come._

And with that, a terrible roar broke from the hand, and there was a great implosion of light. I know not what fared Elveryth, but for myself, a moment of wonder and an enormous concussion seemed to wipe life away from the land.

And there I lay, clutching my book, huddling on my knees, shielding my eyes from the light. From there, I can remember no more.


	2. Chapter 2

It was dark.

But before the darkness there was the stench, a thousand rotting vegetables and meats outside the butcher's, it seemed. I could not move; it was as if I were wrapped in tapestry cushions, all around me was soft.

I began to come out of my haze, and first came my ears. A thundering noise? No, it was wheels, it must be. Hundreds of wheels…and footsteps. Perhaps millions of footsteps.

To my dismay, I could still not see. Apparently it was dark enough wherever I was to hinder my vision. I could not speak, it was if my jaws were not there; I could feel nothing of my face. Perhaps moving would answer some questions?

I experimented with my arms. Whatever covered me was too heavy to lift. The stench was making me ill, and I thought I would retch at any moment, but the sickness never came.

All noise suddenly stopped. The wheels halted, and the footsteps gradually ceased. With the stop of the wheels I lurched, informing me I was inside of something. Perhaps a sick wagon? Of the alliance, pray? I did.

Pray? I panicked. Where was my book? My holy books? Exerting great force and energy I rose, pushing upward. The strain was too great, and I fell, but not in vain. I felt my chest hit something hard and square. I was lying on my book, then. It was alright, and I relaxed somewhat. As for the others, I could only hope they had survived whatever had brought me to this place.

Suddenly, a mighty horn sounded off in the distance, and I, startled, began to contemplate my predicament. That horn was surely of Horde possession.

_A Horde horn? Who do the Horde oppose that would cause them to rally an alarm?_

_Ah, the alliance. I am in a sick wagon then._

_But my alliance would not march in these numbers or out of sequence. Who owns what I am in? Who do the Horde oppose?_

_The Scourge? An army of the Scourge? Then what contraption am I in?_

The answer came into my head, by a dark and terrible voice, and pure fear and panic took control of mind and body as I began to thrash about underneath the heaps of rotting corpses.

_A meatwagon._


	3. Chapter 3

Blind panic arose in me as I reluctantly climbed and sifted through and between the corpses inside the meatwagon, hoping to escape to the top. Around me the army of undead, Human and otherwise, roared with carnal vigor. As I neared the top, a great breeze stuck my face as I hoisted it from underneath the corpses. My first thought was of the triumph of escape, and my second of defeat at my realization.

I was blind.

My eyes saw naught, and I raised my hands as if to rub them. I pulled away immediately. Nothing but scarring was upon my eyes. Sealed over were my sockets. I attempted to scream in terror, but nothing arose from me but a gurgling sound.

My lower jaw was non-existent. Nothing but carnal instinct and blind panic kept me moving, as I walked atop the corpses in the meatwagon. Tripping on the edge, I fell off the side and onto something. It roared and simultaneously hissed, proving I was within the ranks of the scourge.

Panic had left me; so had all emotion and feelings. I was blind physically and mentally as I ran, pushing through the throng of horrors around me. It occurred to me, almost a light thought, that I was still clutching my book tightly in my left arm as I ran, so hard I could feel the indents on the cover from my fingers.

The Horde warhorn sounded again as I continued my escape. The Scourge seemed to pay me no heed, however, as I ran past their ranks and barreled into their numbers. The horn was louder, I must be approaching the source. Between the nightmare around me and the enemy of The Alliance, I subconsciously chose any fate an Orc would offer than that of the Damned.

I cleared the ranks, it seemed, and broke away from the Scourge. An Orcish yell broke out, and I had my first rational thought since my horrific discoveries. If I were to approach the Horde as I am now, they would shoot me full of arrows before I approached, assuming I was mindless Scourge. Although at the moment this seemed trivial, I called upon my trainings to defend me.

A thousand hisses in the air signaled the release of the bowstrings, and I called upon the powers of The Gods to defend me, raising a Holy barrier around myself through a simple word: Shield. Channeling magic and faith into the barrier, the arrows could not puncture it, and it held through the onslaught.

My magic had run low. I could no longer sustain the barrier, and it had seemed that the attacks had stopped. I dropped it, and realized my mistake.

The Scourge, in all their decay and hatred, possessed no priests. The Forsaken did, however practice priestly ways. The Scourge and the Forsaken undead were mortal enemies.

A roar from the army behind me signaled my fears true. I had no option but to run to the Horde. Hopefully, through my powers they had assumed I was not an enemy, and would cease their attacks, possibly defending me.

The thundering of wheels and feet had picked up tempo. The Scourge had come to slay me, and I sprinted as fast as my broken body would carry me in hopefully towards my Horde saviors. A hand caught my shoulder, and bony, rotting fingers indented my flesh. Another word removed his grip, Pain, and the howl of monstrosity behind me proved my spell successful.

I gained speed, and ran for what seemed an eternity. More bowstrings hissed and twanged from my direction, but I could not raise the barrier again so soon. No arrows punctured me, however, and unscathed I stumbled across the ground.

In mid stumble, I slammed into something very hard. A grunt told me I had pummeled into an Orcish bowman's burly chest, knocking the wind out of me but seemingly leaving him unscathed. With one arm he lifted me and threw me backwards, only to be caught by more hands. I was ushered and pummeled further and further back, until weariness took it's toll.

There, amongst the enemies of the Alliance I swore to uphold and preach, I lost consciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

_Darkness upon darkness-_

_Work is needed from you, priest. I have nothing- nothing to give you, to aid you, only my soul, broken and battered as it is. Here is my promise, that in the darkness, even when all else is consumed, you will see me. You will see us, and upon the Mountain we will stand in the glory of creation._

_Here is your gift-_

_Use it well._

"_Wake up, fool! You are needed, and I, Torax, General of the Warchief, command you to wake NOW!"_

And snapped out of the darkness I was indeed, for an Orcish warlord is one you respect and oblige with immediately. Snapping bolt upright, I began to cast my head about, only to remember my absence of sight. I instead began to focus on the sounds around me, and was soon at loss from the shouting and screaming around me.

"These men, aid them, priest!"

It took a moment for the command to process before I realized my duty. Horde or not, they had saved my life, what was left of it, and I owed them my services.

Instead of my eyes, I cast out my mind, searching around me for the souls of the warriors. At first I found nothing but empty husks, lifeless corpses around the battlefield. And then, with my mental eye, color arose around me. Red life-force radiated around me. Orcs? A yellow tint in a few…A bloodlust thrilled Troll.

And there I was shocked again, after a long and terrible day, as my mind's eye glimpsed the other souls around me.

A distant memory arose (barely three days ago, if I am correct) of Elveryth and her wound. A thorny spear from a Bristleback Boar had pierced her leg, and, as I brought my healing magics around me, the Night Elf's soul was visible… a bright green life-force against the blackness. And here was that same strength and clarity, that same natural flow of the earth, upon this battlefield among the evils of the Horde.

But this was different, I knew. These were not elves of any kind, and I realized myself a fool for thinking as such. The tint was darker, ever so slightly, and more broad, much like the thick leaves of Ashenvale. These were Tauren, the bull men who worshipped the Earth Mother as their goddess.

"_WELL?"_ shouted Torax again, his voice clear against the chaos around me.

And with that command, I began to work, strengthening the souls around me with calm clarity. With each soul I wove a tapestry of Holiness into their life-force, giving them life and will to continue the battle. Only twice did I arrive too late, and the spirit of the fallen released into The Twisting Nether without any way to retrieve it.

At last, after hours it seemed, did the carnage surrounding us falter and eventually cease. I brought my mind back to my body, sick and writhing, and was immediately aware of the hundreds of eyes upon me. I could feel them, staring at me with the blank look of battle upon their face-that expression changed naught with Orc or Human, Dwarf or Troll. Swaying on their feet, Torax spoke again, gentler and calmer.

"Rest, priest. You have served us, and we will serve you soon. And once accomplishing that, you have a tale to tell, I am sure. But for now, rest."

Upon the grasslands of The Barrens, in the ranks of the Horde, I stood and cast my hands out in front of me, to find a large, muscled arm ready to guide me.


	5. Chapter 5

At first Torax walked on with me in his tow, and with no words exchanged his army began to move with him. After a while, the horn of The Horde sounded again, but Torax nor his men were alarmed. I did not care either way; my feet dragged across the dusty ground in weariness, but more than tired I was sick, diseased beyond repair-it had already killed me once, and I found myself wishing for the gates to the Twisting Nether to be within my grasp. An end to the nightmare is what I prayed for, but no such prayer was answered.

A bony hand touched the flesh on my other arm. I began to pull away, only to push myself further into Torax, who set me straight after my fumble. The cold, dead hand grasped my arm again, and steadied my stumbling.

"Can you speak?" came a hissing voice to my right, opposite of Torax.

It took me a moment to understand the question. Surely they all could see my predicament, no longer possessing a lower jaw. Then the stories from The Cathedral in Stormwind sparked in my memory, and I comprehended.

Many Forsaken were unable to speak normally due to their previous life's injuries, and so a new language was created, formed of hisses and gurgles that require little vocation. The Forsaken beside me asked if I knew Gutterspeak.

I shook my head. It seemed that upon death you did not learn this form of communication, and it must be taught if I were to ever say another word.

"You will learn. So must we all." Said the voice, and upon further inspection it sounded feminine, despite the harshness. To confirm this, I swiveled my head to the right and shrugged my shoulders, hoping for some kind of response. Luckily, she interpreted my gestures, and answered.

"We head to Orgrimmer. It is a two day journey from us, but I have much doubt that it will be eventful. Expect a long and dusty walk." She paused a moment, and added, almost as an afterthought, "My name is Torgan."

I was surprised. I had never heard of any female, living or not, named Torgan. Some of my wonder must have been displayed somehow, for Torax chose that moment to speak.

"They forget their old names when they are given the chance. She has chosen Torgan, after the Scarlet Crusade captain, slew by her hand." Torgan said nothing.

_Why do they treat me like so? It is as if I have never opposed them, as if I have always been in their presence. And why do I accept this?_

Why indeed? Up to this point I had made no actual decisions, only reacted to situations. I could refuse their help and wander blindly through the world; not much of an existence, but one not contradictory to my beliefs. I pulled away again for a moment, and sensed their tension, before giving in. They had done nothing wrong in my eyes or that of the Church so far-accepting their aid was not heresy.

On we walked, across the endless Barrens grasslands, with only two strangers and my dark, sightless void to keep me company. Unto this was I introduced to my beginnings; here would start the marbles of a child's game in motion, knocking into one another until they could travel no more.

Upon the grasslands of Kalimdor my turn started, and my pieces were set in motion.


End file.
